


Our Last Hope

by salishseaselkie



Series: Thistle Thine, Rose Mine [4]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhona conceals a pregnancy, knowing that she will not carry to term due to the Taint. When she does finally miscarry, Alistair comforts her, but not enough to keep her from going after the impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Last Hope

Rhona had not told Alistair when she learned she was pregnant. She had kept it a secret - she was cynical that it would make it past three missed cycles, and she had not wanted to get his hopes up. When she started getting more and more irritable as the pregnancy continued, he would ask if she was all right, but she would wave him off with an apology and “stupid politics from the Vigil”. She knew he did not truly believe her, but she was notorious for eventually breaking down and telling him. Alistair was always patient.

Then, one day, she finally made up her mind to tell him. They went to bed after dinner with Arl Teagan, his arms wrapped around her, face smothered in her shoulder, and she felt unbearably happy. Why shouldn’t he know?, she’d asked herself. Why should I keep it from him? It’s as much his child as it is mine. She decided when they woke that she would tell him.

That night, she dreamed of drowning, of blood, of Alistair dead, his head hewn from his body and set on a darkspawn’s pike. She gasped and awoke to the creeping light of a far-off dawn, an intense pain between her legs.

“No…no, no, no!” She grappled with the sheets wrapped around her legs and saw blood, so much blood. She grasped at them, hands painted red, and she let out a quiet sob, not wishing to wake up Alistair, who had moved to the opposite side of the bed sometime in the night to cool off. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she felt helpless, so wantonly denied of control. She knew she would miscarry. The taint would have taken the babe sooner or later. Still, the knowledge had not cushioned the blow.

Alistair stirred. She froze. He turned over and awoke slowly to see her sitting up in the bed. “Rho? Love, what’s wrong?” She whimpered and shook her head, burying her hands on her hair.

She struggled to find the words. “Alistair, I…we were…” She sighed in defeat. “I think I just miscarried.” He was still as he processed what she had just implied. Then he scooted over to her and took one of her hands. He saw the blood on her hand. Blood had never bothered Alistair - it had never bothered either of them, but he seemed too calm as he nodded and got out of the bed.

“Come on, then,” he coaxed. “Let’s change the sheets. I’ll get a servant to dispose of these.” Her lip trembled as she got out of the bed. Alistair took off the duvet and threw it on the ground. She bundled the sheets and set them near the door.

The servant came and took the sheets away. Alistair had a bath drawn, and as the servants replaced the sheets, he took his poor, bloodied wife by the hands. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” They went to the bathing room and he drew her night rail over her head. She did not say a word, only stood there, feeling shame for mourning something she knew she would not be able to keep.

He stripped as well and pulled her into the stone washbasin. He sat her down between his legs and washed her as she softly cried, leaving reverent kisses on her shoulder blades. When she was clean, she turned and sobbed into his neck, whispering how unfair it was, how angry she was. He merely held her tight and responded, “I know, love. I know.” She had known for years that they had little chance of ever having a child, but the reality of it had never truly occurred to her. Now she was facing a life barren of children, barren of an heir, barren of a little her or a little Alistair, and it burned a hole in her heart.

They dried off, Rhona feeling empty of emotion and tears. Alistair finally asked the question that had been hanging in the air since he’d awoke. “How long have you known?” She grimaced and turned away.

“Two months.” Hands took her by the shoulders and gently turned her. Alistair’s eyes were sad, but he smiled anyways.

He kindly chided, “You didn’t have to bear that alone, my love.” She nodded, smiling back just a little.

“I know.”

They went to bed, and Alistair kissed her tenderly, stroking her hair and shoulders, murmuring adorations to her, and she held him close, needing him more than she ever had. Eventually, they slept, but not before Rhona had made up her mind.

Damn the taint. Damn it to the void. Maker take it, and Maker take her willingness to accept a fate she had never wanted for herself and now did not wish for her beloved. She would not sit around, waiting for the Blight to take everything she loved. She would do as she had once done. She would end it. She would find the cure or die trying.

She rose early, before Alistair, wrote out a note to him, went to the gardens and found a rose. She placed them by the bed and hoped to Andraste that she would be successful. She kissed his forehead and whispered a prayer over him, begging the Maker to protect him. She knew not how long she would be gone, but she vowed, no matter how desperately she missed him or how much despair she felt, that she would not return until the Cure had been found.

She looked upon him one last time before taking her leave. He looked beautiful in the morning light, his hair like a dusky halo and a smile set on his face as he wrapped an arm around her pillow. She felt her heart breaking, but she knew it was what she had to do. She had to leave.

She had to give them the life they deserved.


End file.
